1.
antidote
isn’t there an antidote
for life’s unfair illnesses
fatigue and blinding migraines
an antidote
for back breaking stresses
future eating cancers
for life’s poisons
seeping from horse traders’ silver plated throats
for toxins
polluting ocean and farmland
or those you find
in the heads of deserting friends
isn’t there an antidote
for nature’s ruin
buried in melting arctic ice
pristine in every way but one
unprotected from penetrating sun
is there an antidote for broken hearts
when loss pierces the organ deeply
or a cure for losing hope
when the wind stops on the porch
dead still, with the worst of news
in a well worn cloak
where is the antidote
when ships leave safe harbors
for sands of blind violence
delivering ignorance and mandates
where is the antidote for severed limbs
mass shootings, ramped up hate
where is the antidote for war with unsung hymns
or for a life long on living the nowhere blues
in skinny alleys and walk up flats
is there an antidote for the hunger
in a baby’s tiny belly
for fear in a prejudice man’s thunder
for glazed eyes escaping numbly
there has to be an antidote for
unopened dreams
precious beneath the household dust
poetry coursing through electricians
behind responsibility, unseen
beaten by over-time resignation
surely there is an antidote
for accidental formulas of annihilation
exponential killing to keep the peace
an antidote for fear mongering, political deceit
that creeps into your vulnerable soul
suicidal nights loom longer and twist to bleak
is it my apology, my forgiveness, my permission
my knowing, my effort, god forbid -- my prison
my love, even deliberate, never seems enough
until we hear our own heart, can we mend the break. heal the world
she cries out to us in her ever quiet way
no message sounds until we say, i’m listening
“sit down with me. Replenish, renew
you are everything to me. i love you
have a cup of tea, wait in stillness, breathe
within you lies the antidote! i can tell you the formula...”
how many times will we interrupt -- too simplistic, we wail
how many times will we implore, it is hard to allow your love...
Until the Soul felt its worth
2.
Strum
You play me like a guitar
In the lap of a nude
Born of picasso’s syncopated zeal
Split and mixed
Serious laughing eyes
We used to
Make breakfast, make love
Make heaven rain words
For hours on sunday morn
You would drench me in aphrodisiac ideas
Then a nap came on like a drug
Under slanted sun, dreams touching sophia
I’m glad we do not
Repeat the past
I play you like the guitar in the lap
Of a bearded gent
On a country picnic
Monet monet
Making love to the resplendent day
Of violet
We used to stroll the path
Painting with conversation
Silver mist befalling dancing ladies on far hills
Sipping lattes, cool pampass grass undulating
Infatuated by nature’s geometry
Consumed by jasmine courting silence
You sing love
And only sing it
I want every breath to be
Wet with juice from the mother womb
New life swaddled in ordinary moment
I want love fresh in discovery
Like the baby’s eyes
Quivering with the engine of mystery
From a rising tide through my thighs
Effortless sluice of energy
Into your arms
Now the song is a dance
The pattern is remembrance
I’m clumsy with grace
Yet she dresses me
Leads me to the dance floor
A rumble under ground with each step
In this late hour, I stumble
Mischievous eyes meet mine
Yield secrets
Keep secret
Momentum of Miro desire
Michelangelo chisel of fire
Sears the tip of our tongues
In our hip pockets:
bouquets, pies and full body orgasm
Who are you tonight
What would you have me do
i feel solicitous
Novel in confidence
Magellan to the soup of you
No reverse
In a cascading universe
Play me like your guitar
In the lap of
Mona lisa’s
Smile
3.
The Net
trapeze act
swing, dangle, laugh, reach
and be dropped
we miss the moment for holding
the hands outstretched
convolute our calculations
the fall has a certain sensation
name it what you choose
freedom or terror
caught, looking up
from the safety net
a state of Love not designed for rest
from my ivy covered hiding place
i watch birds scrabble out of the nest
the whirl and mystery of flight
even in unsteadiness
must surpass all known delight
food and home
no one teaches the baby birds to fly
nor any artist
construct the guru from the inner junkyard
the heart, master architect
knows priceless salvage from discard
the ladder is always to the side
leading back to the platform
a magnet with rungs
ever within reach
for the hope in our lungs
its ladderness infinite
we suspect it a magic beanstalk
a dime, a fortune
for another try and another daring
leap into velocity and moving arms
higher and higher above the
net of love
no longer visible to eyes
our indentation, omnipresent relation
thrives in awareness
being held firm after the bounce
a drip of bliss on our lips
a powerful engine, a black hole
re-called by our soul
one day, one thousandth beginning
the absent limits of sky in aura bold
reveal intricacy
a woven web above
a sheath of embrace
in all space
fear has no fall left in it
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